


i felt a funeral, in my brain

by orphan_account



Category: Super Junior
Genre: M/M, Monster Hunters, weird fey shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-14 07:57:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20597360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: He made a deal with an archfey. That was his first mistake.





	i felt a funeral, in my brain

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheTransientTako](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTransientTako/gifts).
  * Inspired by [I Remember](https://archiveofourown.org/works/9164308) by [TheTransientTako](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTransientTako/pseuds/TheTransientTako). 

> this started out as a straightforward remix and then kind of... took a turn?? oops. thank you so much for the beautiful, ethereal inspiration, thetransienttako ♥

It’s already September, somehow. It doesn’t feel as though it’s been three months, but here they are: Jaejoong with his hair cut short, rubbing the back of his neck like a freshly-shorn sheep; Kibum with his late July tan and a smile still gap-toothed from last year’s Big Exams; the slow but dedicated chill as autumn’s roots curl through summer’s decay.

As usual, Hangeng is the last to arrive. Most of the other students stay here over the break, taking supplementary classes and roaming the vast ocean of a lawn, making eternal summer memories Hangeng has never allowed himself to be jealous of. By the time he’s accepting the porter’s help out of his carriage they’ve all gathered around, arranged like cavalry to meet their general brave, or assholes to annoy a tired friend. 

“I took your bed. The one by the window, it’s mine now,” says Siwon before he can even thank the porter, or take his bearings, or register that it's  _ Siwon _ talking, because yes, Siwon has always been tall, but that’s only ever been one in a cluster of equally milquetoast adjectives (pious sanctimonious loyal good), but now it stands proud as the first among them. Hangeng has to tilt his head up to even meet his eyes, an effort he resents as a matter of pride, and for this terrible surge of nostalgia that he knows he’s too young to feel. 

“Okay,” Hangeng tells Siwon’s neck, too tired to manage any higher. 

“It’s better than the other one,” Siwon tries, like he’s waiting for something.

“You bastard,” Hangeng tries. Siwon looks satisfied. 

The rest of them crowd around him through the entrance hall and up the stairs, asking the same questions they've asked the last eight Septembers. They make disinterested, satisfied chatter. The dinner bell rings as they reach what Hangeng still isn't used to thinking of as ‘his room’ (they moved out of dorms last year, and the luxury of having more than a few feet of  _ his own _ space still feels like a trap, an indulgence the professors will soon ferret out and dole out according punishments for.

He told Jaejoong about it once, and Jaejoong told him to just find a bathroom to jerk off in if it’s bothering him that much. He did, but that’s not really the point.) 

They make a pretty good show of helping him unpack, but Hangeng waves them towards the mess as Siwon’s stomach starts grumbling., and their bright, loud voices echo through the halls as they tumble down the stairs. Hangeng left most of his things here over the summer, and so it doesn’t take him long to finish up, but he sits down on Siwon - on  _ his _ bed instead of following. (The other one  _ is _ better; Hangeng doesn’t care.) He smooths his hand over the starchy gray sheets, and thinks about lying beneath them tonight, all scratchy on his bare skin, pinning his arms to his sides like a sarcophagus. His chest feels tight already. The light through the window is a thin, unspooled golden, and he can see the dust motes dancing on the air, waiting for their chance to choke him. 

Beyond the window, beyond the grounds, beyond the Wall, waits the forest. 

Hangeng turns away from the window. The green lurks in the corner of his eye, and he can feel in his pulse the same rhythm that’s been pounding since he left the school three months ago:  _ Heechul, Heechul, Heechul. _

(But this year is going to be different. Because he spent his summer fortifying himself, his heart. The library here is paltry at best, but back home the city library could give him anything he wanted - contingent, of course, on steady bribes to the head librarian, but Zhou Mi took many forms of payment, and he had a sweet smile. June and July were spent buried in the private archives learning the type of spell they’ve only whispered about at school: how to cut skin with a whispered word, and how to draw iron from the blood, and how to forge that iron into steel, and how to drive that steel into a heart which has never beat.

Hangeng doesn't want to die.) 

“Hankyung,” Siwon says, poking his head through the door, “you never came down for dinner.” 

It takes a considerable effort to force his gaze away from the forest. “Oh,” Hangeng says. “Must have forgotten.” 

  
The school year starts in earnest. They’re eighth years now, which means they only have two left before their Final Examinations. The tenth years cling together, their voices low when they talk at all. This year’s group is particularly small; they lost nearly half their class in last year’s Big Exams, and two more the year before. The eighth years are lucky - last year they didn’t lose anyone, and they haven't lost more than one or two since they were thirds. (Hangeng misses Jungsoo, misses Yesung, but at least it’s gotten to the point where he can smell fire without gagging anymore.) That doesn't mean they’re not nervous. That doesn’t mean they’re not ready to learn how to survive. 

Hangeng especially.

He’s seen blood, some of it his own, most of it not, but in these first few years of eighth year blood becomes familiar, its scent, its texture, its taste. His clandestine studies this summer has put him far ahead his classmates, and he shoots ahead even further; if he concentrates he can feel his own thrumming through his veins, can mouth rituals to bind it, break it, freeze it, set it burning within his own flesh. It hits the others too, this not quite lust: he catches Siwon sitting by their bedroom window, staring at his wrists; Kibum in the laboratory, transfixed by the green viscera oozing out of the freshly decapitated stirge. 

They don’t talk about it. 

  
  


The dreams started the first night he got back, but it's a month before the call comes. 

These are no worse than they’ve ever been, which makes him desperately hopeful: his hands, his skin, his voice, his mouth. Dreams which leave him panting and flushed, which leave him with Heechul's laughter ringing in his ears. The first few times he wasn't even sure if they were dreams from Heechul, or just the dredges of his traitorous adolescent subconscious - and god, how pathetic would that be, that he would dream about him on his own, like he  _ missed _ him-

And the next night he opens his eyes to Heechul pinned on his chest, a weight too solid to be anything but real, even as the world around them mists and swirls in an arcane haze.  _ ‘Oh, Geng,’ _ Heechul coos,  _ ‘of course you missed me. _ ’ The bruise he leaves beneath Hangeng’s ribs says more than words ever could. 

But it’s October, an early frost October, before Hangeng wakes up to Siwon’s snores and Heechul’s voice, clear as a church bell in his mind.  _ Come to the woods, Hangeng. Come beyond the Wall. _

Hangeng tries to resist. He summons up all of the courage shored up over the summer months, thinks about the blood thrumming in his veins, matches his breathing to Siwon’s nasal grunts, tries to focus on anything, anything but the woods beyond the Walls. 

He lasts fifteen minutes. It’s longer than usual. 

Tropes dictate that the forest should be a gray desolation, but instead it’s bursting from dirt to tree-line with a vibrancy that breaks his heart a little bit every time he sees it: trees dripping with green leaves and blood-red berries, fireflies flitting like stars twinkling in the night skies, hoots and buzzing and laughter, his laughter.

In the beginning it took him hours to find Heechul - first year was a blur of long nights wandering the forest, Heechul’s lackadaisical instructions leading him down one path, then another, oh, sorry, it was actually the  _ second _ turn, so that his feet were permanently blistered and he fell asleep in class so often Jaejoong eventually forced him to check himself into the infirmary for half a week (Heechul punished him for his absence by leading him into a ravine, which he spent the better part of the night trying to scramble out of while Heechul, perched on the ledge, waxed poetic about the stars and moon). 

But it’s easy, now, the path, so that Heechul doesn't even try to trip him up (much), just watches silently. Hangeng can't see him, of course, but from the darkness his gaze roves over Hangeng’s skin jealously, and Hangeng doesn’t even pretend like he’s shivering from the cold. 

Three turns right, four turns left, backtrack at the blackberry bushes and under the felled cypress trees. And there he is.

“You’re late, Hangeng,” says Heechul.

“Fuck off, Heechul,” says Hangeng.

The trees rustle like laughter, but Heechul doesn’t seem amused. He’s dressed himself in shadows, and as they stretch to grab Hangeng’s ankles he stumbles. Heechul does laugh now as his knees hit the loam. 

Fireflies sway through the grove, weaving above Heechul’s head in a lazy crown of lights. Only his eyes are illuminated, now, and they’re narrowed as they gaze down at Hangeng. He tries to look away, but he can’t, doesn't want to. 

“Don’t you look good down there.” 

Hangeng clenches a fist against his thigh. “I came, Heechul. I came and I’m here. What else do you want?” Keeps his tone level, keeps his voice even, knows from experience how quickly Heechul can shed his listlessness, can sharpen into something else. 

Heechul crouches so that they’re level on the ground; by now, Hangeng has a few inches on him, but the shadows somehow make him look taller. “I missed you, Hangeng. You’ve been back at school forever, but you still haven’t come to visit me. You used to be here every day, practically. What?" He pouts. “Don't you like me anymore?” 

Voice artificially light, trying to keep the wariness buried deep inside: “Of course I like you, Heechul.” 

“Do you like me as much as your friends? Do you like me as much as Siwon? Do you like me as much as,” and when he grins, now, it doesn’t reach his eyes, “that stuffy old librarian? He had a nice smile, Hangeng. Did you like his smile more than mine?” 

Hangeng tries very hard not to jump as the shadows rest against his shoulders, claw-like pincers waiting to cut down. Heechul doesn’t smell like anything. Heechul’s mouth hovers by his jaw. He remembers how sharp his teeth can be. 

“No, Heechul. I don't like anyone more than you.” 

Heechul rests his fists on Hangeng’s thighs as he leans forward, almost nuzzling Hangeng’s neck as he takes a big, overly dramatic sniff. "I can smell you lying, Hangeng,” he murmurs. “You know you’re not allowed to lie to me, right?” 

Hangeng’s throat is tight; his skin feels like the second day of a fever. “I know the rules, Heechul. I would never lie.” 

Heechul presses a soft kiss to Hangeng’s neck. It’s warm, near life-like. “Of course you wouldn’t. My Hangeng. My darling.” 

  
  


He made a deal with an archfey. That was his first mistake.

But: he was lonely. He was so fucking lonely, eleven years old and nobody but Siwon speaking the language, and Siwon’s vocabulary only outstripping Hangeng’s dog by a few words, but not nearly as obedient. They were forbidden to go past the Wall, but weeks upon weeks of sitting alone in the library, staring at that green expanse and trying not to pay attention to laughter which almost certainly wasn’t directed his way but  _ what if _ , he wouldn’t even be able to  _ tell _ if it was, and the uncertainty was burning him from the inside out-

And the trees swayed so prettily, and the breeze looked so nice, and he was so  _ lonely- _

And once he was in the forest it was so dark and lovely. Little birds chirping and brooks all babbling, and a solitude that wasn’t really lonely if he pretended hard enough. They make a big show of the Wall being forbidden but once you know the right exits it’s easy to slip away. So Hangeng started going once, twice, three times a week, at first just clinging to the other side of the wall, but slowly venturing out further, mapping the violet patches and the little gullies, and the strangely patterned moss he was careful not to touch. 

And he told himself he liked the silence. The forest asked for nothing, and gave him nothing in return, except for silence, and room to practice the little spells they’d been taught so far, so that his teachers patted him on his head and praised him for practicing so diligently, and Siwon and Jaejoong perked their heads up and looked his way, although he didn’t see it, then. 

And then he ventured too far, as he was always going to do. And then the sky vanished behind a canopy of tree leaves that, this close, seemed more black than green.

And then the boar ventured from its hiding place, and snarled at the intruder it had been tracking all these weeks, so small and weak and shivering, and  _ human _ , and lowered its thick tusks. 

And then Hangeng raised a trembling hand. They hadn’t been taught offensive magic yet - just little spells, child’s spells, fire-calling and water-binding, he wasn’t fit to call himself a proper Monster Hunter yet but maybe he could at least survive (and wouldn’t that be a story to tell, wouldn’t they all listen to them then, and pat his back and laugh at his retelling, and call him their friend-) 

And then the boar’s eyes lit with green, and its legs began to tremble, and it grew bigger, and it grew bigger, and it grew so impossibly bigger; as its body shuddered, so did the spikes which skittered from its fur, pointed black and shiny, and as it shed the boar’s skin it had stolen the demon screamed with hunger. 

And then Hangeng closed his eyes. He wondered if death would hurt. He wondered if there would be sunlight there. 

And then, and then, and then-

And then there was a snarl, and a screech, and the sound of something dying. And when he opened his eyes it wasn’t him; when he opened his eyes where a boar had snarled there was just a black-red stain, and standing on top of it was a- a man? No, not a man, a shimmering  _ creature _ made out of light and not light and a feral grin, a creature who held out his hand and smiled softly when Hangeng, unthinking, took it, as though he had been waiting his whole life for just this moment. 

“You saved my life,” Hangeng said, with something that sounded like wonder. 

“I did,” Heechul had responded. “And what shall we do about that?”

The world falls back into its old, tired ways. Hangeng goes to class; Hangeng goes to the library; Hangeng goes to sleep; Hangeng goes to the forest. 

At the beginning of their arrangement, Heechul would spend hours asking him questions, about the outside world, about his friends, about his family, about himself. He refused to answer any questions Hangeng ventured himself; when Hangeng came to him with the paltry knowledge on archfey he managed to find in the library, demanding to know what was fact and what was fiction, Heechul would instead start waxing lecturing him on the difference between ritualistic sacrifice magic when performed beneath a half and quarter moon. Hangeng would emerge from the forest much more prepared for next month's pop quiz, but still just as confused about Heechul than he was before. 

Heechul's interest in Hangeng has never fully waned - despite knowing more about Hangeng than anyone on earth, he still catalogues each little bit of information about Hangeng he can like it’s a precious artifact (“Oh, you’re parting your hair to the side - is there a cultural reason? Do you think it makes you look better? Your ears look bigger, but maybe that’s your style…”) But lately, he’s been dropping more and more hints about his home. He skirts around the issue, laying down a comment here and there - the stars are much brighter in the Fey realm, Hangeng learns, as they yearn to be closer to the beauty of its inhabitants, and let them bathe in starlight; the water in the Fey realm tastes like dreams, and lets you live forever if you whisper it a secret. 

“That’s nice, Heechul,” Hangeng says, and then, as Heechul plaits another blade of grass into his hair, “It’s nice that you’ve been telling me more about the Fey realms. I gave up on asking a while ago.” 

Heechul hums tunelessly as he runs his fingers through Hangeng’s hair. “Well, I figured that I should start telling you. You need to get ready to come, after all.” 

Hangeng’s blood freezes; time freezes. He gapes up at Heechul, trying to draw breath through lungs which don't seem to work anymore. If Heechul notices, he doesn’t let on, just twists a lock of hair and worries a thumb over Hangeng’s scalp as he inadvertently winces. 

“Come?” Hangeng says finally. His voice is softer than he knew it could get. “To… to the Fey realms?” 

“Of course.” The smirk which always threatens the corners of Heechul’s mouth emerges, and Hangeng hates the flutter in his stomach. “It’s been long enough I’ve let you linger, don’t you think? It's time to go home, for both of us.”

Hangeng tries to lift himself up on his elbows, but Heechul’s grip is iron-strong, forcing him to lay still. “My home is here, Heechul.” Tries to keep his tone light, like this is still a joke - and knowing Heechul, it could be. (Knowing Heechul, it isn’t.) 

Heechul hums again, the smile fixed in place. “I’ve told you before, Hangeng. Don’t expect me to tell you again.” 

“Heechul…” 

Hands underneath his chin, forcing their gazes to meet; Heechul’s eyes, all lit up with lightning bugs, seem to be aflame. 

“I’ve given you gifts, all accepted. I’ve given you my favor, which you took and took and took and yet kept asking for more. And yet I ask you to fulfill your end of the bargain. I ask you to repay just a sliver of what you’ve taken from me. and what do I get back? Reproach, and hate, and disobedience.” 

The shadows elongate his features, making him look more removed, more inhuman than he’s ever seen before, and Hangeng has to stop himself from straining upwards, moth to an inferno. His blood churns, waiting. Heechul’s mouth twitches. 

“Imagine how I’ve felt, watching you from the forest. Watching you use my gifts to gain renown, to pass your silly little classes, to impress your silly,  _ mortal _ friends. When you could have been spending your days with me, creating magic with me, learning how to move beyond the bonds of your stupid human body, learning how to become as beautiful as  _ me _ ." He runs his thumb over Hangeng’s forehead, sweet, soft. “I’m just helping you, Hangeng. I'm just showing you how much better you can be. And I think you’ll like it in the Fey realm. Eventually.” 

Hangeng swallows. Tries to screw up as much courage as he can. Succeeds, partially. “Heechul… Are you jealous?” 

Heechul’s laugh is anything but amused. “I’m whatever you need me to be. You have until the end of the year.” 

Hangeng closes his eyes. Heechul pinches the bottom of his jaw, hard, until they pop back open, and studies the way they water with a detached kind of interest.  _ ‘What do you think would happen,’ _ he’d asked once, _ ‘if I broke every bone in your body and replaced them with mine? Would you love me then?’  _ Hangeng hadn’t come back for half a year, and Heechul had sent ghosts to haunt his closet. 

Hangeng tries to find his voice, and only half-manages. “You could wait until I finish school, Heechul, think of how much more powerful I’ll be-”

Heechul waves it away like a buzzing fly. “I can make you as powerful as I want you to be.” 

“Heechul, we’ll have  _ forever _ together, surely a few years-” 

“You’re starting to annoy me, Hangeng.” 

He shuts his mouth automatically, the warning tone in Heechul’s voice an automatic shock collar by now. The list of arguments he’d spent all summer etching into his brain has vanished, and he’s left with just, “Please, Heechul. Please.” Maybe the begging will help his case. Heechul’s always seemed to like it. 

Heechul squeezes Hangeng’s cheeks until his mouth puckers like a gaping fish. He grins at whatever picture Hangeng must make, gaping, eyes bulging, tears on their way to the corners. “It’s not my fault you decided to trust a fey. It’s not my fault at all.” 

  
  


Here is what he’d asked for: “Power? no, I’m not disappointed, it’s just…  _ everyone _ asks for power. Maybe something a little more… exciting? Or at least  _ honest _ . … A friend? Oh, Hangeng. How precious.” 

Here is what he’d promised: “And there’s a solution, right here. I’ll be your friend, my dear. Forever, if you want.” 

  
  


Hangeng doesn’t remember how he gets home. He wakes up to an empty room and the morning sun pounding at his eyelids. There are twigs in his hair and mud on his ankles. He gets two detentions for being late to class. He sleeps through both. When the irate professor gives him two extra months, he thinks,  _ That’s half my life remaining.  _

He starts falling asleep in class. He’s never been particularly studious, but as his grades go down and down his professors’ admonishments turn into concern. His blood magic professor proscribes him extra iron tablets and tells him not to do any practical homework that week; when Hangeng protests (he needs  _ more _ practice,  _ more _ preparation, the wild, terrified plans of this summer won't amount to anything if he can’t get stronger), he’s told to that he’s earned extra punishment: skipping tomorrow’s lesson to catch up on his sleep.

He spends the class period turning his blood into sharpened daggers, which cut his bedsheets to ribbons at his command. When Siwon comes back to his room, he doesn’t say anything, just gathers up the scraps and throws them in the trash. The bags under his eyes are almost as dark as Hangeng’s. The Big Exams are only months away. Hangeng had completely forgotten about them.   
  


“I’ve been a good friend, haven’t I?” Heechul had asked him sometime fifth year - it must have been after the winter, because Hangeng remembers that he’d had his head on Heechul’s shoulder, and Heechul had been dangling weeping hearts over his face, tickling his nose with clusters of flowers and smirking as Hangeng batted them away. 

“Of course.” Hangeng wasn’t even lying (not that he could, not to a fey). Heechul had of course been good. He listened to Hangeng’s problems and offered Hangeng boons; he’d give him gifts, weapons and trinkets and amulets which forced monsters to huddle in the mud before him. His professors and his schoolmates were in awe of the growth he’d shown these last few years - he used to be so shy, so scared, they remembered, but over the last few years he’d become one of the top students in his years, a promising monster hunter, a promising leader of men. He’d accepted their praise, and offered it back to Heechul threefold. 

If he threatened Hangeng when he stayed away too long- If he laughed as he compelled the forest to trip up Hangeng’s movements, if he took away his boons when Hangeng seemed like he might be showing more favor to someone else, if he screeched like a jealous- a jealous  _ something _ when he suspected he might not hold the foremost place in Hangeng’s heart… He gave Hangeng his powers, hadn’t he? How could he not love him? 

Heechul held the flowers next to his own face, considering. In the sunlight his features looked soft, almost gentle. Hangeng found he didn’t quite like them as much this way. “And when the time comes, you’ll be willing to repay your friend, will you not?” 

“What do you mean?” Hangeng had said, blinking up at him. “What could you want from  _ me _ ?” 

Something like a stormcloud crossed Heechul’s face, but it was gone as quick as it had come. “Don’t trouble yourself, Hangeng. Don’t trouble yourself.” 

And so he hadn’t. 

And now he will die. 

He doesn’t go back to the forest. The calls come and come, tugging at his mind like a fishhook through his jaw, but he ignores them. He ignores the animal messengers when they come, too, slamming the door shut on any number of ravens cawing and squirrels chittering, their beady eyes lit with an infernal fire. Siwon calls the steward at least three times to deal with the vermin problem, and seems satisfied when the animal visitors abruptly stop. 

Hangeng can’t share in his pleasure; it’s only because Heechul’s switched to haunting his dreams. 

“Three months left,” Heechul says, and caresses his cheek with knife-sharp nails.

“Two months left,” Heechul says, and slams so much fey energy into Hangeng’s magical supply he spends the next week sending every candle he so much as glances at into a bonfire-like inferno. 

“One month left,” Heechul says, and Siwon asks if him if he’s okay: “You’ve been crying in your sleep.” 

Hangeng draws his knees up to his chest, staring at the covers instead of the green forest waiting at the corner of his gaze. “Nerves,” he says. 

Siwon props himself up on his elbow. “Hey,” he says, in a tone that’s meant to be reassuring, “don’t worry about the Big Exams so much, alright? You’ve been at the top of the class for years, and the rest of us, we’re doing fine. We’re all going to be fine.”

He can feel Heechul’s hands on his shoulders, can feel his breath on the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he says, turning his head towards the wall, “we’ll all be fine.” 

It’s a few hours before Siwon starts snoring again. Hangeng doesn’t sleep. 

Soon he stops sleeping altogether. 

It doesn’t matter. As he trudges like a zombie through the mess hall, through his classes, through the remainder of his life, Heechul prowls at the edges of his consciousness like a cheetah waiting at the watering hole. 

“You used to be so pliant, so sweet,” he murmurs, baring his fangs. “You used to love me, Hangeng. What changed?"

"You know what changed- Don't look at me like that, Heechul, you want to _kill_ me!" 

“You promised you’d be my friend, you promised you’d be with me forever - do you want to find out what happens when you break promises to a fey?” 

“When you say ‘forever’ to an eleven year old they don’t really think ‘ forever ’, Heechul! They don’t think it means  death! ” 

“It’s not my fault you’re a coward.” 

“It’s not cowardice to not want to die!” 

“This is boring. you’re boring me.” And then there’d just been pain, which was at the time better than listening to Heechul talk.

Hangeng smiles as the study group erupts in laughter at something Jaejoong said - a beat too late but no one’s paying too close attention. There’s a low growl at the back of his head. Feeling a surge of insolence - he’s dead already, isn't he? - Hangeng leans back against Kibum’s thigh, seeking some imaginary protection in another person’s pulse, in the feverish warmth from his friend’s body. Kibum idly runs his fingers through Hangeng’s hair, and there’s an abrupt pulse of fire in Hangeng’s fingertips. 

He manages to suppress it with an effort of will he didn’t realize he still had, and later has to make an excuse to visit the infirmary, where the nurse clucks over his new blisters and chides him for practicing burning spells without taking proper precautions. He ducks his head, Heechul’s laughter drowning out the rest of her scolding. He starts avoiding Kibum, after that. He starts avoiding everyone.   
  


One week left; Hangeng can count down his life on scarred fingertips. 

Heechul falls silent, that last week. At first Hangeng thinks it’s a small mercy, but Heechul doesn’t know what that word means; it’s to make the realization, to make the absence of a reprise hurt more - to make the fear taste better.

“Hankyung? Are you okay?” Jaejoong asks him after class, that last day. Hangeng doesn’t know why he’s still going to class - he’s been treading the same path for so long there’s nowhere else for him to go, maybe, or maybe he’s just too tired to find something pleasurable in the world to miss. He hasn’t been doing his homework, doing magic, doing anything - he has a whole school year of detentions back logged, and he almost laughs at the reflexive pang of guilt and anticipation at the thought of serving them out. He wishes he still feared his teachers’ reprimands. 

Jaejoong is still staring at him. He musters up a smile, some rare bloom. “Sure,” he says. It isn’t an answer, but Jaejoong doesn’t push. He at least has that to feel grateful for.

He tries to sleep that night. It doesn’t work, but he goes through the motions because he isn’t sure what else to do. Pray? The deity who watches over his school and his order is a fey himself - he would probably rejoice at another soul lost to the wild forests. Write a letter to his parents, maybe;  _ Mother, Father, I’m very sorry that i’ve sold my soul to an Archfey in exchange for power, but you must understand that I was eleven and very lonely. _ Sort out his possessions for his friends, maybe, but he doesn’t have much - a uniform, a sword, a few feathers from the forest. He hopes they burn them. He hopes they burn everything. 

It’s a while before he realizes that Heechul is sitting with him. Cross-legged on the bedspread, elbows on his knees, watching Hangeng with an expression of what might be fond curiosity on the face of a creature capable of kindness. It almost looks almost sweet on Heechul’s face. Hangeng almost laughs at the absurdity, but finds that instead a sob has gotten itself stuck in his throat. 

“Is it time?” he asks, softly, so that he doesn’t wake up Siwon. He needs his sleep.

Heechul holds out his hand. 

Hangeng closes his eyes. An outline still remains in the darkness, Heechul’s shape lit up in fireflies and fey energy, shimmering pink and gold and black. He’s beautiful, in a horrible way. Hangeng remembers wanting to kiss him when he was younger. Hangeng wants to kiss him still. 

He takes a deep breath, and he reaches into his body, and he pulls out a weapon from the blood of his heart. And he stabs the weapon deep into Heechul’s side. 

Except- Except as the arcane weapon thrums in his hand it strikes not into Heechul’s flesh, but into the his own. Hangeng opens his eyes and- and he tries to scream but he can’t, there’s no sound left in his body, there’s nothing in the world but the pain at his side from his own knife, plunged deep into his own stomach through some trickery, some  _ idiocy,  _ some fey magic- 

There’s nothing but Heechul across the room, crouched on Siwon’s chest with a fistful of magic and an expression of pure inhuman fury.

“You try to break a deal with the fey?” Heechul hisses; his voice isn’t human, his voice isn’t even Heechul’s, it’s the verdance of the trees, it’s the fury of the boar, it’s the pulse of the deep forest and its wild magic, too. “You try to  _ break a deal with me? _ ”

Siwon snores on. Heechul opens his palm, and the pink-gold energy explodes into a shimmering scythe, which he swings down until it’s inches from Siwon’s throat. A cough, a stutter, a nighttime shift and Siwon’s sheets will stain with his lifeblood. Hangeng can’t breathe. His own side pulses with blood. He can't feel the wound. He can't feel anything.

“I gave you your power, I gave you your  _ life _ . You knew the terms of the deal, little one, you knew what would happen if you broke them.” Hangeng could swear that within the roar of forest leaves Heechul almost sounds - hurt, but there’s no time to evaluate, no time to do anything but stare, transfixed, at the blade, and the throat, and to feel his own life draining away. “And you try to break your deal with  _ blood magic? Y _ ou try to use this putrid, this vile, this  _ human _ art against me?” He sneers. “I will repay your betrayal back, again and again and again, until you crawl on the floor begging me to stop-” 

And like magic, Hangeng’s knees hit the floor, but he realizes to his shock, after too long a moment, that it’s of his own volition. The blood magic scatters across the stone, red droplets like marbles, as he presses bloody hands against his knees, and bows his head. 

“Please,” he whispers, “please, Heechul. Don’t hurt him.” His voice is like a sigh against the pure fury pulsing from Heechul, but it somehow echoes throughout the room. “Please, Heechul. Ask again.” 

The blade doesn’t lower. It hangs against Siwon’s throat, nicking the skin with a cut that Hangeng knows instinctively will plague Siwon until the end of his life, whenever that may be. He lets himself look up, just once, to see Heechul regarding him from the other bed. At this angle he looks like a king residing upon a makeshift throne. No lights reflect in his eyes. 

Slowly, so slowly that at first Hangeng isn’t sure it’s happening, the blade vanishes. And slowly, so slowly, Heechul reaches out his hand.

“Do not anger me again, Hangeng,” he says. His voice is soft, now, and Hangeng refuses to acknowledge that he misses the forest’s roar. “What is your answer?” 

Hangeng lifts his bloody hand. It hangs in the air between them, and something arcane sparks across the distance. Fireflies, or stars, or a trick of the light. 

He meets Heechul’s gaze. He has to lift his head to do so, a pauper coming in supplication to his liege-lord. “Heechul,” he says, the last plea of his mortal life, “wouldn’t you rather have someone who wants to be with you because they  _ love _ you? Wouldn’t you rather have someone who  _ wants _ to be with you?” 

Heechul smiles at him, and this time it reaches his eyes. “Hangeng, you don’t understand. We have forever. I can  _ make _ you love me.” 

When he reaches out his hand this time, Hangeng only hesitates for a moment before filling it with his own. 

When Siwon wakes up the room is empty, save for droplets of blood scattered across the floor, like flower petals stained red.  
  



End file.
